The Man Who Can't Be Moved
by ParadiseAvenger
Summary: Easter destroys Ikuto's mind, erasing his memories and then leaving him for dead. All he has left is a photograph, a cardboard sign, and a broken-down amusement park. "If you see this girl, can you tell her where I am?" Three-shot. IkutoXAmu.
1. Part I

Please, check out my first ORIGINAL NOVEL! The Breaking of Poisonwood by **Paradise Avenger**. (Summary: People were dead. When Skye Davis bought me at a slave auction as a birthday present for his brother, I had no idea what my new life was going to be like, but I had never expected _this_. It all started when Venus de Luna was killed and I was to take her place, to become the new savior… Then, bad things happened and some people died. In the heart of the earth, we discovered the ancient being that Frank Davis had found and created and used to his advantage. The _Poisonwood_—)

…

Inspired by the song "The Man Who Can't Be Moved" by The Script. It's a great sad song. Give it a listen.

**X: The Man Who Can't Be Moved :X**

He didn't recognize his feet. But they had to be his… right? Honestly, they were attached to some unfamiliar legs and some unrecognizable hips leading to a torso that he touched with hands he didn't know. On the thin curve of unfamiliar shoulders, there was a neck with a head that seemed to belong to him. Nothing seemed to be severed or separate. It was all connected and he must have been connected to this body somehow, right?

He took a step forward, wobbling on weak legs. How did you walk again? He felt like a baby, but… what did a baby feel like? All these words and feelings whirled around his brain in a confused maelstrom. Things he felt that he should have known were disjointed and confused. Things he should have remembered felt lost and out of place. His mind was fuzzy and thick, helpless and muddled, and he felt as if an important part of himself was missing, but what?

He walked a little farther, leaning on the cold brick wall. The moonlight burned his eyes and he lifted a hand to shield his eyes. The moon… what was 'moon'? He staggered a few more steps into the amber glow beneath a streetlamp and noticed that his thin wrists were bruised and bloody beneath the black sleeves of his shirt. What had happened to those unfamiliar wrists?

He ran his hands over the unfamiliar body—searching for other injuries and strangeness. He was wearing black trousers and a black shirt, each dirty and torn and faintly bloody. He lifted his shirt, inspecting the skin beneath the fabric and found several bruises and small cuts. What had happened to him? To this body he was inhabiting? He was hurt, but what was… 'hurt'?

He tried to remember something—anything—but a tearing pain raged through his head. His skull was splitting apart and he doubled over, whimpering softly in agony. He clutched his head, feeling the soft unfamiliar hair between his fingers. That voice, his voice, keening softly in anguish… it sounded so unfamiliar. It was as if he had never heard it before. Crouched there on the sidewalk, he tried to remember something—anything—but nothing came to him except tearing pain. He couldn't remember anything.

Not his name.

Not about the bruises on his body.

Not where he came from or how he had gotten here.

Not what had happened.

Not anything.

Nothing.

He dug his hands into his pocket and found a wallet. He took it out, but it was empty—no cash, no ID, no driver's license, nothing—though the wallet was old and worn. He searched through the rest of his pockets and then felt something prickling against his chest inside his shirt. He unbuttoned it a little and stuck his hand inside a pocket he found stitched inside his shirt.

There, creased and faded, he found a photograph of a young girl with golden eyes and pale rosette hair. She was smiling, seemingly unaware that the photo was being taken. He turned the photograph over, homing to find a name or a date or something, but it was blank. He had no idea who she was, but then again, he had no idea who he was either.

He took a few more staggering steps, watching the shape of his shadow as he walked. Finally, he reached a large plate-glass window and looked into it. There, reflected on the backdrop of the star-speckled night, was the face he assumed to be his. It was a handsome face—smooth with pearly alabaster skin that glowed in the moonlight, defined aristocratic features, deep wine-dark sapphire eyes, and tousled night-black hair—but even his own face wasn't familiar to him.

What had happened to him? What had he done? What had been done to him?

He walked through the dark streets of the strange city, without destination, without a clue. All he had was the photograph of the young beautiful girl. Everything was… lost to him, wholly and completely. He didn't recognize what must have been his own face, he didn't know his own body, and he couldn't remember what had happened to him. He was lost.

…

The goons of Easter Corporation leered down at the alley below where they had dumped the shell of the body that used to belong to Tsukiyomi Ikuto. His step-father's latest plot had been one of the worst the young boy had been thrown into. Hoshina Kazuomi had decided that Ikuto was no longer an asset in any way, shape, or form. He was too unpredictable and too wild, uncaring for what he did, and it was becoming more and more apparent that if he did happen to find the Embryo, he wouldn't turn it over anyway.

Kazuomi didn't want to bother killing him since it was too troublesome to get rid of a body convincingly. Especially since Utau would be missing her brother and raise a stink if she thought he was dead, but everyone was used to Ikuto wandering off. They wouldn't question it if he was simply absent from the world around them. So, Kazuomi had arranged for Ikuto to wander off… permanently.

One of Easter's henchmen called the boss.

"Is it done?" Kazuomi asked immediately, eagerly and impatiently.

"It's done," the man confirmed.

"Good," Kazuomi said and hung up sharply, rubbing his hands together. He rotated in his desk chair and gazed out the window at the lights of the city below. Now, with Tsukiyomi Ikuto out of the way, Kazuomi was free to do as he pleased. No longer would that boy go running off to tell the Guardians of his plans. No longer would he interfere to save that Joker, Hinamori Amu. Free of Ikuto, Kazuomi would find the Embryo, he would grant Gozen's wish, and he was content with the knowledge that he had destroyed his worthless step-son once and for all. "Good," he said again.

…

The nameless youth made his way blindly through the dark streets. He wandered aimlessly, hopelessly, helplessly. He didn't know where to go or what to do. He didn't know who he was—whether he had friends or a family or a home to go to. He walked, his body exhausted and dragging, but still he walked. Something was driving him, the compass of his broken heart beating in his chest, urging him forward and onward. It urge him to turn here, to go under this bridge, to walk down this road, to climb this fence.

Then, he found himself standing in a darkened amusement park. Uncertain, he walked through the darkness.

The shapes and shadows cast by the rides looked like monsters. The merry-go-round was an army of skeleton horses, the roller coaster like a giant snake, and the Ferris wheel like a frightening cage in the sky. Each sight sent stab of chilling fear into his hollow chest, chasing him through the park until he came to a shape that wasn't frightening.

It was like a table set for giants.

Teacups on small saucers, all so brightly colored that he could even make out some vague colors in the darkness. The compass pulled at him again and he let himself in through a small gate and walked among the teacups. Now that he was beside them, they were smaller than they looked. His long-limbed body probably wouldn't even fit inside it. He rested his hand on the rim of one of the cups, the icy metal numbing his raw skin.

He shuddered and pulled his hand back, rubbing it against his shirt. He winced as he felt pain beneath his clothes—what wound lurked there under his hand? He retreated from the teacup and the backs of his knees hit the low fence. Thrown off balance, he toppled over the fence and wound up flat on his back, winded.

For a moment he stared up at the sky. There were stars and the moon, waiting there, watching him. But what was 'moon'? What were 'stars'? What was 'teacup' and 'amusement park'? He felt as if he should know these things, as if all these words meant something to him, but he couldn't remember.

He couldn't remember anything.

His mind was empty and aching.

His heart was hollow and broken.

He was nothing, just like his mind.

From the secret pocket he discovered inside his shirt, he pulled out that creased picture of the beautiful rose-haired golden-eyed girl. In the darkness, he stared at it, trying to remember her and why he carried her picture so close to his heart. But nothing came back to him. His mind remained blank and empty, only a throbbing pain began to develop in the back of his skull. He curled in on himself, whimpering in anguish, clutching the picture of the girl to his chest. There, curled up on the cold hard ground in the amusement park, he collapsed into exhaustion.

…

The unknown boy woke the next morning, cold and damp, but he had been gifted with a dream. He knew he had to do something to find out who he was. It would be nearly impossible with only a photograph and nothing else, but he wasn't afraid. Honestly, he had nothing left to lose in this forgotten life. With all he had left, he would try to find out something about himself and if he didn't… well, he would remain this shade of a person—remembering nothing, alone, and lost.

There was only one thing he could do. He might have known nothing about himself, but somewhere out there… there must have been someone who knew him. At the very least, the rose-haired girl whose' picture he carried must have known him.

If only he could find her…

He exited the amusement park, climbing back over the wall as he had the night before, and walked for a while, hoping that something would strike him. He walked beneath bridges and through alleyways, down city streets and through the gutters, around malls and apartment complexes. Finally, the idea came to him.

Sitting on the corner was a homeless man dressed in rags. He was holding a cardboard sign that read simply, 'Please help. God bless.' As people passed, some slowed to read his sign and others even gave him loose change. Most ignored him, looking sharply away, but the seed had been planted in the nameless boy's head.

A sign.

He approached and old man and the man looked up, taking in the boy's haggard beaten appearance. For a moment, they only stared at each other. The boy looked to be in worse shape than the old man. The kid was rail-thin, filthy, his wrists battered and bloody, his skin as pale as parchment and stretched over his bones. Worse yet was the expression on his face—purely and wholly lost, as if he had nothing left in the world. Somehow though, he was stunningly beautiful with his dark hair and blue eyes. The old man wished someone had given him money so he could give some of it to this boy.

Silence spread between them and the old man finally broke it. "Son," he said softly.

The boy crouched down and ran his fingers over the sign. "This?" he asked.

For some reason, the old man whispered, "A sign for the rest of the world to read."

"The whole world?" the boy asked, a faint smiling pulling his lips.

The old man nodded, unwilling to crush what was left of the boy's spirit. "Yeah."

"I need something like that," the boy murmured.

"You can get some cardboard out of the dumpster around back. Get a piece and I'll let you use my marker," the old man told him.

The boy nodded. Then, he asked the strangest thing. "What's a dumpster?"

The old man stared at him. "You don't…?"

He shook his head.

"Like a big trash can," the old man said.

The boy nodded, straightened up, and was gone around the corner. After a moment, he returned with a strip of torn cardboard and crouched beside the old man again. The man took a marker from his duffel bag and handed it to the boy, momentarily feeling his cold fingers as they brushed against him. The boy stared at the cardboard for a moment and then took a photograph from inside his shirt. He stared at it as if trying to glean some knowledge from the face there.

The old man craned his neck to see the photograph. It was a young girl, pretty and pale, with hair like roses and eyes like sunlight. Was she special to this boy? Was she his love? The photograph seemed taken without the girl's knowledge, so maybe this boy was simply a stalker—insane and violent. But the old man didn't think that was the case. "Who is she?" he asked the boy.

The boy looked at the old man and then his shoulders sagged. "I don't… know."

"You don't know?"

He shook his head. "No. I don't… remember… anything…"

"Nothing?" the old man repeated.

He nodded. "Nothing," he whispered.

"Then, what are you writing?" the old man asked the boy.

The boy held up the sign, his handwriting jagged as if he had been unable to remember how to write. The sign said simply, desperately, 'If you see this girl, can you tell her where I am?' The boy stared at the old man with tragic blue eyes. "Do you think… I'll find her?"

The old man touched the boy's shoulder softly. "I don't know," he said gently. "But how about you sit here with me for a while?"

The boy nodded. "Thank you," he whispered. Then a tear rolled down his face and he wiped it away, confused.

It was then that the old man saw it. There was a hideous gash at the boy's temple, bloody and raw, but scabbed over and already beginning to heal at the edges. It had been stitched up so whoever had hurt him hadn't intended to kill him. This wound… it was something to destroy this boy's mind, his memories. It was a wound that took everything away from him, but still let him live. In a way, it would have been crueler than a slow death.

The old man's heart went out to this boy, broke for him.

The old man had been through wars. His son's heart had given out under the influence of cocaine. His daughter had been shot in the face for the paper in her wallet. His wife had died of an illness nothing could cure. Now, he was homeless, fallen to rock-bottom. He had lived too long, seen too much, been hurt badly, but this boy… This boy had lost everything and there was probably nothing he could do to get it back, either. Everything had been stolen from him by whoever had left that gash in the side of his head.

…

Hinamori Amu was walking around town absently, her mind on another world. She knew she should have been thinking of Hotori Tadase, who had taken her on a date the night before. Technically, she should have still been on cloud nine since Tadase was her dream, her crush, her everything, but she wasn't. Actaully, since the date the night before, she had only been melancholy.

Tadase had taken her to an amusement park, but… her only thought was of Tsukiyomi Ikuto. Once, a long time ago,Ikuto had taken her his secret amusement park, something that was closed and broken down and only for them. Her date with Tadase had been at a normal park, packed with people and in perfect working condition, but it was somehow not enjoyable, even though she had been with Tadase and he was a perfect gentleman.

She hadn't seen Ikuto in a while, she realized. He hadn't been at the last showdown with Easter, he hadn't been hiding in her bed, he hadn't come to annoy the hell out of Tadase, and he hadn't shown up in any of the random places he usually did.

Where was he?

She liked to say to his face that she disliked him and there was a time when she had hated him, but Ikuto was someone she couldn't hate. It seemed a waste to hate him since he came around anyway like a stray cat begging to be petted and fed. Honestly, that was what Amu thought of him as—a pet, troublesome but lovable.

She shook herself, blushing.

She didn't love Ikuto.

She loved Tadase.

Right…?

She continued walking, angling her head back to look at the sunny blue sky. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, inhaling deeply, and trying to think of something else. She was willing to accept at this point that she loved more than one person and there was nothing wrong with that. Tadase was her prince (ahem, her king), but Ikuto was her knight. In her own way, she loved them both.

"I wonder where Ikuto's been lately," Amu remarked to no one.

Ikuto was just… special. While Amu loved Tadase, she wouldn't call him up in the middle of the night because she had a nightmare. She wouldn't laugh and show her real character with him. Ikuto, though, she didn't have to put up a front for and she sensed that he was the same way around her as well. They were close friends, closer than friends.

She smiled. "Maybe he's traveling with Utau's concert. That would be nice for them."

But Tadase was so wonderful. He cared for her and he was so adorable, like a little puppy. She loved him, honestly, she did. But he was… Why was Ikuto so special to her and Tadase was just someone she liked? With a jolt, Amu realized it was because… Ikuto needed her and she needed him. They needed each other, but Tadase was… Tadase didn't need her.

"Ikuto," she whispered and tilted her head to look up at the sky. "Where have you been?"

No one answered her.

**X: The Man Who Can't Be Moved :X**

I was really reminded of the song "Moments" by Emerson Drive while I was writing the scene with the old man. And this came out so long. It was supposed to be a one shot, but it got so long that I had to break it up into parts.

I edited this because I was rereading it on FF and I noticed there were a lot of little errors, but they actually aren't. FanFiction removed some of the words from my chapters! I have no idea why…

Questions, comments, concerns, blah?

**REVIEW! **And I update sooner.


	2. Part II

I'm glad everyone is enjoying this. I thought it was kind of a weird idea, but I liked it too much not to write it.

**X: The Man Who Can't Be Moved :X**

The nameless boy and his sign_—'_If you see this girl, can you tell her where I am?'—sat on the corner with the old man during the day. Then, at night, he returned to the teacups in the hidden amusement park and slept there, curled up in one of the gondola-style baskets of the Ferris wheel. It offered shelter from the weather, but wasn't warm or comfortable. The old man had offered to let him come to the subway system where a group of homeless people huddled together for warmth, but the boy declined. Something inside insisted he remained near that amusement park.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed since he had come to his senses in that alleyway with nothing in his mind. He knew his clothes were getting dirtier and dirtier, his skin darkening, his hair greasy, and he was losing weight. His clothes were positively hanging off his body. All that mattered was finding the girl and remembering something about his past, his present, his future. He would settle for learning his own name.

The old man guided him a little bit, teaching him. He showed the boy places to wash his clothes in sprinklers and a gas station that had a shower where if he was careful, he could bathe. He taught him to beg and where to scavenge for food, what places threw out their leftovers and where there were barking dogs and people with guns. He showed him warm places to sleep even though the boy always slept at the amusement park. The old man taught him to survive as best he could and the boy followed his instructions, but he didn't particularly care.

He needed to find the girl in the photograph.

He needed to remember something—anything!

The amusement park and the corner he shared with the old man where he and his sign searched for the girl in the photograph. From those two places, the nameless boy would not leave—not until he learned or remembered. He needed those places and no one would take them away from him. From those places, he would not move—would not leave. Until he remembered, they were his home.

…

Hoshina née Tsukiyomi Utau was on the road with her manager and band, touring to find people who liked her music. Since she had left Easter, business had been hard. She was even trying her hand in America as a foreign beauty and it was beginning to go well, but each night she woke from violent nightmares that she couldn't remember. Something was wrong, but she didn't know what.

On one such dark night, she woke suddenly from a nightmare, panting and sweaty, her nightgown clinging to her back. Her skin was chilled and her heart was pounding. She had the sudden realization that she hadn't heard from Ikuto in a very long time. Her brother usually checked in with her once a month, but in at least three, she hadn't heard from him. Heedless of the time difference, she called Hinamori Amu, clutching her cell phone in a white-knuckled grip.

"Hello?" the younger girl answered deliriously.

"Amu, it's Utau," the young idol said.

"Utau," Amu groaned. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Either very early or very late," Utau said shortly. "Have you heard from my brother?"

Amu's voice cleared a little. "Ikuto? No, I haven't. Have you?"

"No," Utau said, her voice dropping with concern.

Silence stretched painfully amid the two girls as they each thought about the missing dark-haired boy between the two of them. If neither of them had heard from Ikuto, what had happened to him? Was he dead somewhere? Had Easter destroyed him? Was he just off wandering with his violin?

"Amu," Utau whispered.

"Yes?"

"If you hear from him, will you call me?" she asked.

"First thing," Amu promised.

"Thanks," Utau whispered and hung up.

In silence, she sat in her bed, hands fisted in the covers. After a moment, Utau lay down and buried her face in her pillows, trying not to cry. Ikuto was the only family she had left, if he was gone… where would she be without him? Utau started crying and the floodgates poured open. She easily cried herself to sleep, exhausted, and when she woke the next morning, she remembered her nightmares. They were all about Ikuto.

…

Then, one day, he came to the corner to sit with the old man, but the old man wasn't there. The corner was empty and deserted save people bustling through their busy lives. The boy sat down, his sign propped against his legs and her picture clutched in his hand. He stared at the people as they passed, meeting the eyes of those who looked at him—mostly young girls. He wondered what he looked like that drew their attention so.

Was he ugly?

Or was it something more?

Someone passed him and stopped a moment, staring at the photograph and sign he sat there with day in and day out. It was a young boy with pale hair and mahogany eyes, as if he was an albino, with a thin boyish body. He glanced at the nameless youth and then looked sharply away—his expression unreadable.

The nameless youth stared at the young boy desperately, but as he was about to turn away and leave, he whispered, "Please, do you know her?"

The boy shook his head, turned, and walked quickly away.

The nameless boy stared at the boy's retreating back and then looked down at the photograph of the beautiful girl, rubbing his thumb gingerly over her face. Who was she? Would she ever find him? Would he find her? What was going to happen? He adjusted the sign, reclining against the wall behind him, and sat there all day. As night fell, he gathered up his sign and returned to the broken-down amusement park that he considered his home.

Curled up in the gondola of the Ferris wheel, he slept peacefully if not completely alone.

The next morning, the nameless youth woke with a start to the sound of crashing machinery and things breaking. He jolted up and saw the rearing yellow monsters of bulldozers and cranes, dump trucks and a massive dumpster. They were going to tear down the amusement park! His first thought was of the teacups—why were that so precious to him?

He couldn't remember!

He lurched to his feet and ran towards the teacups, clutching only the sign and his photograph, waving his arms and shouting. The moment before the massive arm of the bulldozer crashed into the teacups, the driver saw him standing there—unmoving. And he wouldn't move either.

He would not be moved.

The bulldozer ground to a halt. "Move it, kid!" the operator shouted at him.

But the youth would not be moved.

Without sirens, a policeman pulled into a amusement park a few minutes later. The officer was tall and portly, with a round honest face and an easy smile. The youth was sitting in the teacup, his long legs sticking out, and his pale face downturned and sad. The officer came to sit beside him, leaning on the edge of the cup.

"Son?"

"I can't leave this place," the youth whispered.

"Why not?"

"I… I don't know," he whispered.

"You don't know?" the officer asked, his eyes widening.

"I don't remember anything," he confessed.

"Then, why are you here?"

"I don't know. I just… I found my way here and I need to be here," he whispered.

"Son, you can't stay here," the officer murmured.

The boy met the officer's eyes desperately. "Please," he choked out.

"Son—"

"Please!"

The officer sighed heavily. "Son, this place is scheduled for demolition and you're in the way."

"I need to stay here," he insisted.

The officer tried to grasp the boy's arm, but he yanked away, slouching deeper into the small teacup.

"I won't go," he insisted. "I can't leave this place. I have to stay here. I can't be moved."

"What's your name?"

"I don't know. I can't remember," he whispered.

"What?" he gasped.

"I can't remember… anything…"

"Where are your parents?" the officer asked.

The boy stared at him, uncomprehending. "Parents?"

"Yes. How old are you?"

"I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know. I don't know."

The officer stared at the boy, stunned. How could this kid not know his own age? How could he not know his parents? How twisted was this boy's life that the only thing he had left was a broken-down amusement park, a cardboard sign, and a crumpled photograph?

"You have to leave," the officer tried.

The boy shook his head. "No."

With a sigh, the officer went to the demolition crew. "Just," he began, "save the teacups for last. I don't know what's up with that boy, but he won't be moved."

"Can't you move him?" one of the men in hardhats asked.

The officer shook his head. "Only if I arrest him and I have nothing to arrest him for," he said. "Just… work around him as best you can, okay?" The officer turned to look at the young man, seated inside the small teacup with only a cardboard sign that read, 'If you see this girl, can you tell her where I am?' That was all the boy had—not even a name.

…

Hotori Tadase didn't know what to think of seeing his old enemy, Tsukiyomi Ikuto, in that state on the corner. It was clear that Ikuto was homeless. He was filthy, he was thin, he was sitting there with a cardboard sign and a picture of Amu, and that was all. He looked so pathetic, a shade of the thieving black cat Tadase was used to seeing. This Ikuto was nothing—he was a scarecrow in an empty field, ragged and worthless.

Tadase didn't know what to think since he was happy to have Ikuto out of the way and no longer competing for Amu's affection, but… he couldn't bear to see Ikuto in that state. Ikuto was his greatest enemy and now he was… he was nothing.

Maybe Tadase should tell Amu.

Amu and Ikuto had a strange and special relationship. Maybe, Amu could bring Ikuto back to the person he had been formally, but if he did that… Ikuto would be back in Amu's life again. Tadase was happy to have Amu all to himself without the threat of Ikuto stealing her away.

But maybe he should help Ikuto. They had been friends in the past after all—Ikuto had been someone he looked up to as an older brother, someone he idolized and even loved. Maybe, for that relationship, for the lost time between them, Tadase should help him now when he was in desperate need of it.

He should, but… would he?

It turns out that when girls are involved, men are worthless and shallow.

Tadase met Amu at the park where she was waiting for him with ice cream cones in vanilla and chocolate flavors and a wide smile. She gave the vanilla to Tadase, but he stared at the chocolate one, stricken, as she began to lick it. Chocolate was Ikuto's favorite flavor.

"Is something wrong?" Amu asked him.

"N-no," Tadase said and forced a smile. "Why?"

"No reason," she said. "You just seem distracted, is all."

"I'm fine," Tadase said and took a large lick of his ice cream.

Amu ate in silence, enjoying the warm afternoon and Tadase's company. She leaned back, her pale rose hair teasing her cheeks and her gold eyes bright. Tadase had just begun to relax and forget about Ikuto when she asked a question out of complete left field.

"Have you seen Ikuto lately?" Amu asked.

Tadase choked. "What?"

"Have you seen him? I haven't and Utau called me a while ago. She hasn't heard from him," Amu murmured. "It's like he fell off the face of the planet."

Tadase knew the truth. Ikuto was sitting on the corner, homeless and helpless, seeming to have forgotten everything in his past. He hadn't even recognized Tadase. All he had was that sign and the photograph of Amu. 'If you see this girl, can you tell her where I am?'

"I haven't seen him," Tadase said after a moment choking on his ice cream.

Amu patted him on the back. "You okay?"

He nodded. "Yeah," he said and then added again, "I haven't seen that cat."

"Oh," Amu remarked and let it go.

Tadase's heart felt hollow and sick. Was he really that shallow that he feared a little competition from Tsukiyomi Ikuto? Was he really that much of a coward? But the conversation passed and Tadase didn't tell Amu the truth. He found that the answer to both those questions was 'yes,' honest and a little bit painful to admit. Yes, he was that shallow. Yes, he was afraid. Yes, he was a coward. Yes, he was going to keep seeing Ikuto on the corner to himself.

…

Kazuomi heard something rattling in his desk drawer and pulled it open, peering inside at the black-and-white egg decorated with jagged teeth and the generic shape of a cat's head. Tsukiyomi Ikuto's guardian egg, Yoru, was trapped there. His egg was taped shut.

Kazuomi lifted the egg out in his hand, marveling at just how warm it was and fluttering faintly like a bird. It was the beat of Ikuto's heart, of his wishes, of his very soul. Kazuomi squeezed his fingers on the small egg, hearing Yoru's muted voice shout from inside it.

What would it be like to take this egg in both hands and crush it? Would it destroy Ikuto wholly and completely?

In his large hand, Yoru's small egg shivered and wavered, seeming to fade for a moment, but then solidified again. Ikuto's will was strong, even without memories and friends, even without his Yoru. It was too bad the boy was worthless because a strong will like that was wonderful.

Kazuomi put the egg back in the drawer and closed it.

In the darkness, Yoru shivered. He missed Ikuto, he could feel his master's heart beating brokenly far away. He wanted to return to him, to snuggle inside the collar of Ikuto's shirt and change with him, to watch over him. But, the fact that even after all these months, even knowing Ikuto's memories were gone, Yoru was still in existence. That meant that Ikuto was strong—stronger than anyone had even suspected. It didn't matter what Kazuomi had done to his mind. Yoru would find him and the Ikuto he knew and loved would return, because even without his memories Ikuto's Yoru still existed.

**X: The Man Who Can't Be Moved :X**

Questions, comments, concerns?

_**REVIEW! For faster updates.**_


	3. Part III

Last chapter. How sad is that?

I'm proud of myself. The rating stayed at T.

**X: The Man Who Can't Be Moved :X**

Months passed with no sign of Tsukiyomi Ikuto.

Utau was still in America, selling her album, but she was trying to come home to Japan as soon as possible. She was worried about her brother. She called Amu once a week to see if there was news of him, most of the time in the middle of the night when a nightmare woke her. Amu was getting used to the late-night calls and didn't even mind anymore. Besides, it was nice to have someone to talk to who shared her concern for Ikuto. To the Guardians, it was a relief that he hadn't turned up lately to bother them or interfere. They didn't miss him and were happy to be rid of him.

But Amu missed him.

She worried about him, too.

It had been so long since she had seen him. What if he was dead? What if Easter had hurt him? What if he was locked up somewhere, starving to death? And most of all, she needed him. Without Ikuto around, she didn't have anyone she could just be herself with. She was only herself when she was with Ikuto and she was missing that relaxed home-like feeling. She missed the strange cat-boy she considered her best friend, even if it was a little ridiculous that she even considered him a friend at all.

She sighed heavily, tossing and turning in her bed.

The night outside the window was vast and dark, heavy with rain-bearing clouds and strong wind. Amu pitied anyone who had to spend the night out in this black weather. The phone on her nightstand rang loudly. Amu groped around for it, pressed it to her ear, and said, "Hey Utau. What's up?"

"Any news?" Utau asked, getting straight to the point.

"No," Amu murmured. "I'm sorry. I haven't heard anything and I haven't seen him."

Utau's voice broke. "I'm worried about him, Amu."

"I know," she said soothingly. "I know."

"I want you to find him, Amu, to make sure he's okay."

"I'm trying, Utau," Amu promised.

"Good," Utau whispered. It sounded like she was crying.

Amu smiled softly. "You should get some sleep."

"I know," Utau murmured.

"Goodnight," Amu said.

"Wait!" Utau gasped and there was a moment of silence. "Thank you, Amu…"

"For what?" she asked.

"For caring about Ikuto," Utau whispered.

"No problem," Amu murmured. "Get some sleep, Utau."

"Yeah," the idol whispered. "Night." Then, she hung up.

Amu rolled over, burying her face in her pillow and trying to chase away the images of Ikuto's handsome face that kept filling her mind, drowning out Tadase's smiling expression. What had happened to Ikuto? Where had he been for the past few months? Amu's throat tightened, a stone in her throat, and her eyes burned with tears. "Ikuto," she whispered, but he didn't answer.

…

Hinamori Amu was sitting in study hall, absently staring out the window at nothing. The day beyond was so darkly cloudy that it almost looked like nighttime. The air smelled like rain and it was clear that it was coming very soon. Amu twirled some hair around her finger, wondering if Ikuto had an umbrella wherever he was. She wondered if he even had shelter from the rain. Hopefully he did.

Then, she heard the conversation.

"My dad wouldn't let me watch Bala-Balance last night," a younger girl was complaining to her friend. "So I sat in the living room and watched the dumb news with him, but—" her voice rose to a squeal "—there was a beautiful boy on the news!"

"Really? What for?" her friend asked. "Is he a model?"

The other girl shook her head. "No! No one knows anything about him actually. They're calling him 'The Man Who Can't Be Moved' because he doesn't know what his name is."

"Can't be moved?" she asked. "Can't be moved from where?"

"Some rundown amusement park," the girl said. "He's sitting in the teacups and refuses to move. They even had to stop demolition because he won't move. He says he's waiting for some girl, but he doesn't know who she is. All he has is a picture of her and a sign that says, 'If you see this girl, can you tell her where I am?'"

"That's so sad," the other girl said.

"I know, but he's gorgeous. I wish he didn't have that picture of her. I'd love to be his girl," she said with a heavy sigh. "He's dreamy."

Amu didn't know why her heart was suddenly pounding. She had no reason to think that this 'Man Who Can't Be Moved' was Ikuto, but… her heart throbbed. The teacups, the amusement park, a girl… It all sounded so similar. What if it was him? Amu lurched up from her desk and bolted from the school, uncaring for the teachers that shouted after her. It began to rain as she ran home and threw herself inside. Soaking wet, she turned on the television without a care that she was drenching the sofa. She flipped desperately through the channels and then spotted the headline the girls had been talking about.

"The Man Who Can't Be Moved," the news anchor was saying, "is still causing a hold up at the demolition site of the old amusement park. He's got himself holed up in the teacups and refuses to move at all. There's nothing the police can do to move him either. He's stuck there, waiting, for a girl who'll never come. Let's take a look."

The screen changed, panning to a beautiful face that was achingly familiar to Amu. He was crowded in the small brightly-colored teacup, his long arms and legs hanging over the sides, dressed in ragged black clothing. His hair was like night, his eyes a shade of the sky, and his skin like porcelain. It was Ikuto!

All he said to the camera was, "If you see this girl, can you tell her where I am?"

Then, he held up a small worn and creased photograph and Amu's heart skipped a beat. It was a photo of her, taken on the sly, but Amu had never thought her own face was beautiful until she saw that picture in Ikuto's hand. Her hair was like cotton-candy floss, her eyes like gold coins, her lips curved into a smile, and she looked lovely in the summer sun.

"Please," Ikuto whispered to the camera, desperately.

Amu's heart throbbed. She found herself reaching for the phone to call Utau, but stopped dead. Before she called Utau, she should get to Ikuto and make sure he was alright. Outside, a jagged bolt of lightning split the sky and the dark clouds once again devoured the world. Amu grabbed her rain coat, yanked it on over her already-soaked clothes, and raced towards the old amusement park… and Ikuto. She had found him. She had finally found him.

…

The nameless youth huddled in the bottom of the teacup, not that it did anything to shelter him from the storm. The cup was merely beginning to fill with rainwater, soaking him into a shivering mess. He sheltered the photograph beneath his body. If it was destroyed, he would have nothing left and no way to find out anything about himself.

Hopefully, the girl in the photo would find him soon. His unwillingness to leave the demolition scene had gotten him on the news. There was no way she wouldn't be able to hear about him, but… what if she didn't want to see him? What if she was running from him? What if she hated him? What if… he was a bad person?

He curled up tighter, shivering in the cold rain. Thunder and lightning danced a dance of death overhead.

"Ikuto!" a girl's voice shouted. "Ikuto! Where are you?"

Her voice was so beautiful that there was no way she could be looking for him, some nameless street urchin.

"Ikuto! It's Amu! Where are you?" she shouted again.

He sat up, looking around. At the very least, if she was looking for someone, he should help her look. After all, it was raining hideously and maybe he could show her the picture her carried. Maybe she knew the beautiful girl in it. Maybe she could offer him something. And at the very least, he was doing something good for someone.

"Ikuto!" she screamed again. "Please answer me, Ikuto! I know you're here!"

He saw her, her thin body drenched and wrapped in a raincoat. Her wet hair was plastered to her face, but he froze, staring at her.

"Ikuto! Please, this is our place! Answer me!"

It was the girl from the photograph with rose-petal hair and bright golden eyes, her face was creased with worry and flushed. She spun towards the teacups, mouth open to shout again, but she stopped dead, staring at him. Then, she pushed back a curtain of hair and smiled desperately at him.

"Ikuto," she whispered. "It's you…"

He stumbled from the teacup, slipping in the mud, and ran to her. She met him halfway, her thin arms wrapping immediately around his lean body. She buried her face in his soaked chest and he squeezed her closer, breathing in the scent of her hair. It was so tantalizingly familiar—strawberries and cream. He clung to her tightly, unwilling to ever let her go.

"Ikuto," she whispered.

"Is that… my name?" he asked her.

She pulled back a little and looked up into his face. "You don't remember?"

He caressed her face gently. "Who are you?"

"Hinamori Amu," she whispered to him.

He stared into her eyes, waiting.

"You're Tsukiyomi Ikuto," she told him.

"Ikuto?" he repeated. "Amu?"

"Yeah?"

He hugged her close against his chest again, uncaring for the cold rain pelting them. He twisted his fingers through her hair, ran his hands down her back, crushed her small body to him, and cuddled into her neck. He whispered her name softly and then whispered his own.

"Come on," she offered. "Let's get you out of the rain. You can come back to my house, okay?"

He nodded, but hesitated.

She slipped her hand into his and smiled at him. "Ikuto," she whispered.

At the sound of his name, a familiar chord being struck in his heart, he followed her.

…

Closed tightly in Kazuomi's desk drawer, Your suddenly felt a surge of warmth go through his little body. Ikuto's heart was beating, the strings of his heart were beginning to play, his soul was coming back to him. His frozen empty heart was thawing out. Yoru bashed the side of his egg into the drawer, rattling it violently. Now was the time he escaped his prison and made his way back to Ikuto's side. He bashed harder, not even caring if he broke apart his egg's shell.

Kazuomi cursed and opened the drawer.

Yoru rocketed out at him, shrieking wildly. The little cat launched himself towards the window, found it to be locked and closed securely, bounced off of it, and flew wildly around the room. Kazuomi did what he could to catch the little guardian, but Yoru was past that point. He would not be caught. He would return to Ikuto's side and he would do it—now! He yanked on the doorknob, found that locked too, and returned to the window. He heaved at the latch.

Kazuomi grabbed at him, cursing loudly.

Yoru hissed, scratching with his little claws, and finally tore the window open. Outside, immediately thrashed by the rain, Yoru let out a cry for the alley cats. They met him on the street below and he asked them about Ikuto, learning all the boy had gone through in the past months. The surge of power Yoru felt was because Amu had finally found Ikuto and spoken his long-forgotten name. He smiled faintly, shook some rainwater off, and headed for Amu's house.

…

Amu brought Ikuto home with her and they were both soaked to the bone. She peeked inside, looking for her mother or father, but there was only a note on the table. She skimmed it quickly. Apparently, Ami had gone over to a friend's and they had left to pick her up. They would be back in about an hour. Perfect, that was enough time to get Ikuto into a hot shower and some clean clothes. Then, Amu could bottle him up in her bedroom and shower as well.

"This way," she said to him and led him to the bathroom by the hand like a small child. "Take a shower and I'll get you some clean clothes. Okay?"

He clung to her hand, his eyes desperate and tragic. "But…"

"I'll be back," she promised. "I'll tell you everything you want to know, everything you've forgotten."

He nodded, smiling softly.

Amu gently peeled his fingers from hers and pushed him gently into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. She got one of her father's old shirts and a pair of sweatpants from her dad's closet, tucked in a fresh towel, and brought them into the bathroom for Ikuto. She glimpsed his silhouette through the frosted glass, blushed, and turned away. She ducked out of the bathroom and stood in the hallway, waiting for him to finish and come out.

…

The nameless youth was no longer nameless. He had found the girl in the photograph, or more accurately she had found him and she knew him. She knew his name—Tsukiyomi Ikuto. He had a name now, even if he could remember nothing else from his life before he woke up in that alley.

In the bathroom, he stared at all the fixtures and then at the stall. This was nothing like the grimy bathroom in the gas station that the old man had shown him. Experimentally, he spun the knobs until water came out, adjusted the temperature after a few tries, stripped of his filthy clothes, and dunked himself beneath the warm spray. It felt so good—so warm, so gentle, the pulse of the water massaging his tense back. He relaxed, a sound not unlike a purr escaping his mouth.

He heard the door open and saw the shadow of Amu's body on the other side of the glass as she set something down on the vanity. For a moment, she hesitated, seeming to be looking his way. Then, abruptly, she fled the bathroom, practically slamming the door behind herself.

He smiled, somehow pleased with her embarrassment and the fact that she had been looking. Was that the kind of person he was?

…

Amu waited and, after a moment, Ikuto emerged. He looked stunning now that he was clean, his dark hair hanging down in his eyes, but his face was still gaunt and pale as a skeleton's visage. He smiled at her, reaching out and Amu let him take her hand, squeezing his fingers in return.

Then, she saw it.

By now, the hideous gash the old man had seen on the side of his temple had turned into a pearly white scar, but still, it was ghastly. The wound was huge, about the size of an egg, and had clearly been the cause of his memory loss, turning him into the man who couldn't be moved. Even worse, it looked like a wound someone had inflicted on him purposefully. Someone had caved in the side of his skull, opened his mind like a present and thrown it away. Ikuto's mind and memories had been purposefully destroyed.

Tears welled in Amu's eyes. "Oh, Ikuto," she whispered and reached up to cup his face. She laid her fingers over the large scar and was surprised to find it several degrees cooler than the rest of his body. Gently, she stroked the old wound.

He laid his hands over hers, gently threading their fingers together. "What is it?"

"Who hurt you?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I don't remember anything, Amu."

She looked into his eyes and then whispered, "I bet it was Easter."

"Easter?" he asked.

"Awful people that forced you to work for them," she explained. "They were always hurting you. I bet they're the ones who did this to you."

"But why?" he asked her.

"Because… you were always helping me and I'm their enemy," she confessed.

Ikuto stared at her, his blue eyes soft and honest. "Then it was worth it," he whispered. "It was worth it."

Amu's eyes filled with fresh tears and she wrapped her arms around him tightly, holding him close. Ikuto embraced her in return, clinging to her smaller body. He realized his words were the truth. Whoever had hurt him… if they had hurt him because of her, it had been worth it to protect her. This girl… she was someone unbearably desperately precious to him. Maybe he even loved her, if he could remember what that word even meant. What was… 'love'?

…

Since she had finally found Ikuto, Amu called Utau as she had promised the youth's sister months earlier. Utau answered on the second ring, her voice exhausted and a little bit grouchy, but the moment Amu spoke Ikuto's name, Utau perked up.

"You found him? Where is he? How is he?" she asked, spitting out questions like a machine gun. "Is he okay? Is he hurt? What happened to him?"

Amu broke into the string of questions. "Utau, something bad has happened to him."

She was silent for a minute, barely breathing. Then, she whispered, "What?"

"I think… Easter destroyed all his memories. He doesn't remember anything."

"Nothing?" Utau whispered.

Amu nodded, remembered she was on the phone, and said, "Yeah."

"Help him, Amu," Utau pleaded after a moment of stunned silence. "Please, help him."

"I will," Amu promised. "I will."

"Good," Utau said coldly. Then, a moment of silence stretched between them and Utau whispered. "Amu?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad that Ikuto has you."

Coming from Utau, that meant a lot. It was a better blessing than if an angel had come down from heaven and told Amu she was meant to be with Ikuto. Utau was so hard, but deep down, she cared for Ikuto more than anything in this world. For her to relinquish her protection of him to Amu… it meant a lot.

"Thanks Utau," Amu said with a smile.

"Y-yeah, whatever," Utau said and hung up sharply.

Amu chuckled and closed her cell phone.

…

After she showered, Amu spent the next few hours telling Ikuto everything she knew about him. She recounted the things they had done together, explaining to him why his body had brought him to the broken-down amusement park and the teacups. She told him about the time Tadase had confessed his love to her while Ikuto had been hidden in the closet. She told him about his little sister, Utau, who loved him so much and was heartbreakingly worried about him. At length, she told him everything she possibly could.

Then, she asked, "Where's Yoru?"

"Yoru?" he repeated.

"Your guardian," she explained to him. "Like my Ran, Miki, Suu, and Dia."

Ikuto looked around her room. "I… I don't know. I haven't seen him."

As if on cue, there was a harsh knock on the window and they both turned to look, shocked. Speak of the Devil and He shall appear. There, meowing on the other side of the glass, was Yoru. He smiled at Ikuto, tears gathering in the corners of his little eyes.

"Ikuto, nya," the little guardian meowed.

Amu got up from the bed where she had been seated with Ikuto and let Yoru in. The little guardian shot past her and flung himself against Ikuto's throat, burying his face into his master's neck. He was crying, meowing, and shivering with damp cold. Ikuto gently cupped the little creature, stroking his soft blue-black fur.

"Yoru," he whispered and cuddled his little guardian. "Yoru."

"Ikuto, what happened while we were apart?" Yoru asked.

Ikuto looked to Amu and, together, they went through the story again. Amu was pleased to know that Ikuto had remembered everything she had told him about himself. Maybe since there were his memories and they were the truth, they had attached themselves inside his damaged mind. Maybe, with time, Ikuto might even start to remember things on his own. But, as Amu stared at that large wound on his temple, she had a feeling his memories of the time before were gone forever.

"Ikuto?" she asked.

He looked at her, his eyes crinkled up into a smile.

"Do you… remember anything… about me?" she asked.

For a moment, he stared at her. Then, he shook his head and Amu's heart clenched painfully.

"Oh," she whispered.

He took her hand though and pressed his lips to the back of it. "My mind doesn't remember anything, but my heart is beating like this when we're together," he said softly and pressed her hand to his chest. Beneath her palm, she could feel his heart thundering. "I think… my body remembers something," he whispered. "Tell me, were we…?"

Amu's cheek flamed.

She didn't know what to tell him. She thought she loved Tadase, but Ikuto was… without him, she felt like something was missing inside her chest. It was as if a hole had been punched through her heart. She never felt that way about Tadase, or Kairi or Kuukai for that matter.

Ikuto leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Since Amu's hand was still pressed over his chest, she felt his heartbeat leap into racing rataplan. Timidly, Ikuto lifted his hand and pressed it over her heart and found that her heartbeat matched his own. And he had only kissed her on the cheek. He leaned back and stared into her eyes, until she looked away, embarrassed.

"Are we anything, Amu?" he asked. "When I woke up, I found your picture close to my heart where I could protect it. I think… maybe, I must care deeply or you. Even if my mind can't remember, my heart can. I've never felt it beat so hard or so fast as it is at this moment."

"But Tadase…" Amu whispered because she was always truthful with Ikuto.

He pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. "Just tell me," he whispered.

And because she was always honest with him, she whispered, "My heart only feels like this with you, Ikuto."

His fingers slid under her chin and lifted her face gently. For a moment, he stared into her eyes, seeing himself reflected there in her golden depths. Then, he pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. Much to his surprise, Amu turned her head almost immediately and met his lips.

Ikuto wrapped her in his arms, cradling her close. She pushed him down on the bed, lying beside him in a comfortable embrace. She kissed and kissed and kissed him, unable to pry herself away. She was drunk off of him, off the scent of his skin, off the texture of his lips, off the feeling of his warm arms around her. He was purring deep in his chest, like a big cat, and she rubbed his back, clinging to him. She never wanted to leave this embrace, but after what felt like an eternity, he gently broke the kiss.

"Amu," he whispered. "You can't move me."

She gazed at him, uncomprehending.

He smiled at her. "From your arms, I'm not going to move."

She hugged him closer, her fingers gently brushing the scar at his temple. "Good," she whispered. "I never want you to."

**X: The Man Who Can't Be Moved :X**

I didn't want the big cliché ending where he remembers everything. He had his skull caved in. No one comes back from that. So I'm extremely happy with the ending of this. Did everyone else like it, too?

Classic important author's note. Please, read!

**First**, drop a _**REVIEW**_ and let me know what you think! Are the characters way out of character? Think I tormented Ikuto too much? Are permanently disgusted and can no longer even watch Shugo Chara thanks to me? Loved it? Hated it? Are scarred for life because of Ikuto's memory loss? Think there was way too much angst? (Flames will be used to roast marshmallows and weenies!) Think I need to do more editing before I post chapters? Post to slow? Chapters are too short? Too long? Yada, yada, yada…

Second, I own nothing except my original characters: like… the old man and the policeman. I do not own The Script's song, "The Man Who Can't Be Moved." But I do own my angsty plot. So there, now I can't be sued!

Third, there will be no sequel… at all, so don't ask!

**FOURTH**, please, check out my first **ORIGINAL NOVEL**! **The Breaking of Poisonwood** by **Paradise Avenger**. (Summary: People were dead. When Skye Davis bought me at a slave auction as a birthday present for his brother, I had no idea what my new life was going to be like, but I had never expected _this_. It all started when Venus de Luna was killed and I was to take her place, to become the new savior… Then, bad things happened and some people died. In the heart of the earth, we discovered the ancient being that Frank Davis had found and created and used to his advantage. The _Poisonwood_—)

Fifth, stay tuned for my next story (Deafening Silence) or go read one of the others I have written!

Finally, thank you for making it this far! All the way to the end! Woot!

And so, I bid you adieu.

_**Questions, comments, concerns?**_

_**REVIEW!**_


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